


A Selfish Request

by Akumeoi



Series: Fingers and Thumbs [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blindness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, i'm not gonna tell you how to live your life, okay it's intended to be platonic but, you can read it as platonic or romantic if you want to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/Akumeoi
Summary: Shortly after Noctis's death, Ignis has a nightmare and wakes up shaking in the dark. Gladio is there.(Based onthis comic).





	A Selfish Request

It’s dark. He sees his hands stretched out before him, pallid, white, and fuzzy at the edges. The air isn't just black, but heavy and thick with dark, cloudy particles like soot swirling all around in eddies and currents of cool air, like silt stirred up at the bottom of a lake. 

And like a deep, deep lake, the dark is full of unseen beings - massive, leviathan, sinuous beasts; fat, fast creatures with mouths crammed full of needlepoint teeth and with bald, blind white eyes nestled in craggy folds of reptilian skin; monsters upon horrific monsters - and Ignis can't see any of them, but he _knows_ they are there. It's the same tingling sense of imminent danger that tells him where to throw elemental grenades that lets him know he's not alone in the dark. 

But he doesn't know which way the surface is.

Is it above him? Is it below him? Is it to the left or to the right, diagonal in either direction? His breath comes in short bursts. _Gods. Help me._ He picks a direction and starts moving, slowly, reaching forward with his hands like he’s trying to grab the air as if it were solid ground. It's pointless; he already knows that the swirling soot-air is infinite in every direction. _Gods! Help me!_ And the more he moves, the more frightened he becomes, knowing that at any moment his hand could brush against the smooth, cold hide of a ravenous beast. It's so hard not to panic, but by this point he’s terrified, wanting to just stand still and weep but unable to stop moving. Now his body is moving against his will, and the dark itself is pressing in, consuming and smothering and forcing its way into his lungs and he opens his mouth to scream but _Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaaah!_

Ignis bolts upright in bed, letting out one short cry, but this time the sound makes it out of his lungs and into his ears and _Thank the gods, thank the gods,_ the soft cotton blanket he clutches beneath his hands feels real. It's still dark, of course. Ignis’s heart is pounding and his breath comes out short bursts, just like in the dream. His whole body is trembling. Everything is totally spinning out of control and he feels vulnerable, exposed, unable to innately sense anything around him. Then he realises can hear someone breathing at the foot of the bed, the one other input that anchors him to reality in this moment between sleeping and waking. Waking, such as it is for a man who is now blind.

“Gladio?” he says, and hates how everything he feels seems to come out in his voice. Hates how even though he thinks he knows it's Gladio, it's still a shock when he hears that familiar deep voice answering him calmly.

“You were having a nightmare,” Gladio says, and it's half-way a question. 

“Yes,” Ignis admits. His body thaws enough for him to allow himself to move again. Drawing his knees up, he sits hunching in over them, stopping just short of hugging them like a child. He knows it's a shameful display, but his body won't stop shaking, and Gladio _has eyes_ \- he would know how Ignis feels, regardless.

“Sorry I woke you,” Gladio says, still sounding concerned. “I, uh, I didn't expect you to scream.”

“Don't be foolish. There's no need to apologise,” Ignis replies, trying to force his breathing down. He automatically runs one hand through the hair that has fallen over his eyes (such as they are) and finds his forehead to be covered in sweat. If Gladio hadn't woken him, who knew what other thing might have. And he would have awoken alone (in the dark). This was better. No matter if Gladio already had concerns that Ignis was a liability. What did that matter now, when Prince Noctis was lost to the dark, and Ignis, too - and Ignis -

“Hey,” Gladio starts, voice low. “Iggy… you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Ignis says, in a tone of such raw grief and loss that Gladio flinches, Ignis can hear it in the shifting of his feet on the floor as he recovers. Then Ignis notices his hands are still shaking, even he hears Gladio take a tentative step towards him.

Ignis clenches his fist. “I’m not,” he amends, quietly. 

He raises his head as if in defiance, but Gladio says nothing. In fact, the both of them fall silent. Ignis's breathing is steady, but still too loud in his ears.

“Gladio,” he says, forcing himself not to care that he can't read his friend’s face and know whatever Gladio’s judgement of him is. Gladio replies with a hum, letting Ignis know he's listening, that his concern outweighs whatever else he might be feeling. Ignis's throat tightens. He speaks.

“Might I make a selfish request?”

“What is it, Iggy?” Gladio says. Ignis takes a deep breath.

“It is pitiful,” he says. “But would you hold me until I stop shaking?”

Ignis forces himself to remain facing Gladio as he says this, and after, even though he wishes he could bow his head in shame. He does not know that Gladio is the one to look away, though he hears the sharp intake of breath Gladio gives, and then a slight rustling as Gladio shifts uncertainly and runs a hand through his hair.

“Sure, I will,” Gladio says at length. Ignis hears Gladio’s footsteps and then feels the mattress dip down beside him as Gladio sits on the edge of the bed. He is so close, and yet Ignis still feels tense and frozen. A part of him remains trapped in that infinite, dark place, to remain there for as long as his skin is cold and hollow. 

“Scoot over,” Gladio says, a little rough but not unkind. Ignis does as he says, making room for Gladio to lie down - mattress shift, creak of springs, sudden coolness as the covers are lifted, sudden warmth as they are brought back down. Ignis doesn't move. He hears Gladio fluffing the pillow, arranging it to his liking. Then he feels Gladio's hand tug lightly on his shoulder, drawing him in to an unexpectedly intimate embrace. His head is tucked under Gladio’s chin, facing him; one of Gladio's arms rests across his body and holds him tightly, while Ignis surmises that the other one is folded under the pillow beneath them. All the little tells of friendly human presence are suddenly amplified tenfold - the sound of quiet breathing, the smell of musk, the gust of breath ruffling his hair, warmth emanating from all around him, a heartbeat. 

And he is weak, so weak already, that he can't resist giving himself one last grace. To put his own arm around his friend and ally, to press up against him as closely as possible and pray that come morning the both of them will think this is just a dream.

“Uh… this is what you wanted, right?” Gladio says, voice rumbling through his body.

“Yes,” Ignis says. “And I hope you do not find it… an inconvenience.”

Already the tension is beginning to leave him, his breath slowing and his stiff limbs relaxing as if he were a mechanical doll whose springs had been released. Shudders occasionally pass through him, making him tremble like a leaf, but Gladio holds steady.

“It's fine,” Gladio assures him. A beat. “One time, Iris told me I'm good at hugging. Haven't done something like this in a long time, though.”

 _Iris_. A reminder of the world that exists beyond Ignis's sphere of immediate senses. In spite of their recent personal loss, this world still exists. Ignis feels a pull of intense nostalgia.

“You have my thanks,” Ignis murmurs. “I imagine that Iris is correct, though I doubt there is any way to measure such a thing. I, personally, have little experience in such matters as… hugging.”

It's a piss-poor attempt at dignity, and an even worse attempt at humour. Gladio still chuckles. Now more tension leaves both of them. Ignis hadn’t even realised that Gladio was tense to begin with.

 _Ah_ , Ignis thinks. 

“Gladio, may I ask how you knew to come over here and wake me up?” Ignis asks. Gladio sighs, a soft gust that ghosts past Ignis’s ears.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Gladio admits. Ignis knows what that means. Gladio, too, feels adrift in the night. Ignis sighs, shifting slightly to rest his forehead to Gladio's t-shirt clad sternum. His whole body feels cradled in warmth. Gladio should be able to see his way forward, having Iris to go back to in Lestallum, but Ignis knows now that Gladio, too, is feeling cast adrift. No matter what has been taken from them, they remain allied at least in this. _Oh, thank the gods_. It’s selfish of him to think. _Thank the gods, thank the gods_.

The shaking in his limbs has finally stopped. Against his better judgement, Ignis begins to drift, sinking down into the soft mattress and Gladio's embrace.

Gladio’s voice rises up on the edge of sleep.

“Hey Iggy,” he says, “You want that I stay here 'till morning?”

He doesn't have to think. “I would like that very much,” says Ignis.

**Author's Note:**

> So the comic actually has a [second part](http://eisahvakohler.tumblr.com/post/157819952644/spoilers-endgame-2). I didn't find it until I already had the idea for this fic and was preparing to write it, but I like it less than the first comic so I mostly ignored it. It kinda forgets Gladio and goes right back into Ignis's head, [losing him in space](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-w3m69yNglw) all over again. 
> 
> I tried really hard to filter everything through Ignis's existing senses, without including any information he'd need to get with sight, except for that one time I lampshaded the fact that Gladio was doing something Ignis couldn't see. I upped the ante on the nightmare because it was easier for me to make the air-like-liquid-filled-with-invisible-monsters scary than the lost-in-space nightmare. What do I know about subtlety? Nothing, apparently. Absolutely fucking nothing. 
> 
> Where is Prompto in all of this? IDK, suffering, probably.
> 
> Feedback welcome. Please respect the fact that I don't ship these two, though I absolutely don't mind if you read this fic as romantic/shippy.


End file.
